


Steve Rogers: Undercover Robosexual

by jellybeanforest



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Cap-Ironman Bingo, Cap-Ironman Kinkmeme Prompt, Identity Porn, M/M, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Steve is defrosted a year early, meet cute, meet not-so-cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21675349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeanforest/pseuds/jellybeanforest
Summary: Tony Stark is a selfish, narcissistic asshole with a God complex, which makes his invention of the superhero Iron Man, an impressive android with an AI that surpasses even J.A.R.V.I.S. in complexity, all the more puzzling. Stuck in a future he struggles to understand, Steve surprisingly gets along with the bag of bolts more than any flesh-and-blood being. He often has to stop himself from taking chances with real human life (including his own) when Iron Man is in danger. After all, Stark likely has several back-up copies of Iron Man’s code, so he can always make another one, right? That’s what Steve tells himself anyway when he sees Iron Man flying a missile destined for New York City through a wormhole to destroy the Chitauri warship.And then Steve gets a call from the man himself on his private comm channel.“Hey Cap.”“Stark, this isn’t a good time. I’m kind of in the middle of something. Can I call you back later?” Steve says, head tipped up to watch Iron Man’s ascension.Based on a Cap-IronMan Kinkmeme Prompt. For the Cap-IronMan Bingo 2019 Round 2 – O5 Photo Prompt.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 64
Kudos: 744
Collections: Cap Iron Man Kink Meme, Captain America/Iron Man Bingo, Iron Man's Identity is a Secret, Stony*





	Steve Rogers: Undercover Robosexual

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in an alternate timeline where Tony never reveals he’s Iron Man, and Steve is defrosted a year earlier during Iron Man 2 around the time Tony is dying, meaning he gets to know the asshole-version of Tony Stark and his alter ego Iron Man separately before the events of the original Avengers film. The photo prompt was a screenshot of the end of The Avengers (2012) where Steve places his hand over the busted heart of Iron Man after he has fallen from the portal.

When Steve wakes in 2010, he meets _the_ Tony Stark at his fortieth birthday party. Mr. Stark is a potential resource for S.H.I.E.L.D. Fury is vetting, and Steve is S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most recent acquisition, the proverbial feather in their cap. Stark is also the only child of his former friend, Howard Stark, and excited to meet his childhood hero, or so Steve is told.

 _He’s a genius,_ Fury had said. _An eccentric visionary with his fingers on the pulse of the future._

Billionaire. Playboy. Philanthropist.

Fury had failed to mention a final, more apt moniker: Unrepentant Asshole.

After hitting on nearly anything with a pulse, including Steve himself, Tony Stark is on-stage, stumbling around, nearly falling over while taking swigs from what can’t possibly be his first bottle of booze that night. He leans heavily against a microphone stand as he schmoozes the crowd.

A woman Steve soon learns is Pepper Potts interrupts, confiscating Stark’s microphone and plastering on a smile. “Does this guy know how to throw a party or what?” she asks the crowd using her best everything-is-perfectly-fine voice, clearly trying to salvage this PR nightmare of a night.

Tony bends down, upper body nearly draped over her. “I love you,” he slurs.

“Unbelievable. Thank you so much,” Pepper says, though Steve detects a slight facial tic that betrays her annoyance with his antics. Still, she tries to placate him, patting his chest as she continues, “Tony, we all thank you so much for such a wonderful night. And we’re gonna say good night now, and thank you all for coming.”

But Stark protests, “No, no, no, we can’t… Wait, wait, wait.” He knocks away the microphone in his drunken insistence, but Steve can still hear them over the din of the party thanks to his enhanced hearing. “We didn’t have the cake. We didn’t blow out the candles.”

Pepper drops the act, murmuring so only Stark and Steve can hear, “You’re out of control, okay? Trust me on this, okay?”

But Stark talks over her. “You’re out of control, gorgeous.”

“It’s time to go to bed. It’s time,” she insists.

But he won’t let up, leaning in. “Give me another smooch.”

She bends backwards, avoiding his likely-sloppy, drunken lips, “You’re not going to be happy about this.”

“Come on, you know you want to,” Stark mumbles, not taking no for an answer.

It makes the hair on the back of Steve’s neck bristle, and he’s just about to intervene, when Pepper speaks, nearly ordering the man to “Just send everybody home, okay? It’s time to–”

He finally lets up. “If you say so.”

“Okay, I’ll take this,” she confiscates Stark’s bottle. “You take that,” and hands him the microphone. Then she steps to the side to allow him to make his announcement.

“Pepper Potts,” he says, swaying in place as he wobbles off the stage. Steve has to wonder how he’s even standing right now. “She’s right. The party’s over. Then again, the party was over for me, like, an hour and a half ago. The after-party starts in fifteen minutes,” he broadcasts, holding his arm up and out like a showman to the cheers of the crowd. Pepper closes her eyes and breathes, her face severely disappointed. “And if anybody – Pepper – doesn’t like it, there’s the door.” He points the way.

There’s another man making his way to the stage where he wrests the microphone from Stark’s loose grip. “Okay, everyone, time to move along. My friend here needs to get some well-deserved shut eye before he makes a fool of himself.”

_Too late._

“You’re always rainin’ on my parade, sourpuss,” Stark complains, reaching out to reclaim the microphone.

Sourpuss retains its possession. “Tony, you’re way past drunk,” he murmurs, trying to reason with the man. “I’m shutting down this party. I’m serious. Pepper–”

“I wasn’t kiddin’ about the door. No one’s stoppin’ anyone from leaving. Free country.”

Steve has seen enough. He doesn’t stay for the afterparty, though he reads about it in the paper later. Apparently Tony had proceeded to make an ass of himself with a side of light property damage, leading to his breakup with his girlfriend, former personal assistant and newly-appointed Stark Industries CEO, Virginia “Pepper” Potts.

 _Good for her._ In the brief span of time Steve had known both Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts… it is abundantly clear she deserves better.

* * *

Steve gives his assessment to Director Nick Fury, “The man is a menace. He’s a drunk, unreliable jerk, and I can’t even fathom why you would be considering him for the Avengers Initiative.”

“Not him, actually,” Fury replies, passing him a mission file that Steve flips open. “We are more interested in his tech: Iron Man.”

“Iron Man? That robot from the news?” Steve reviews the enclosed dossier, glancing at the garish red-and-gold automaton before skimming through the main body of the report, reading about his deeds and accolades.

“That ‘robot’ is an advanced artificial intelligence Stark designed during his captivity in Afghanistan and then repurposed as both a bodyguard and a peacekeeping sentinel of sorts. You saw the footage of what it did in Monaco, right? It could provide air support to you and your team,” Fury clarifies. “Of course, Stark himself will be on hand for maintenance and updates – it is his tech after all – but a mind like his could prove useful.”

“Maybe if he wasn’t so soused all the time,” Steve adds. “Have you read the reports? Stark has never been a good man, but his behavior has really taken a nose dive in the past six months or so. Back in my day, a soldier with his symptoms may have even been diagnosed with battle fatigue. Perhaps what Stark needs is a doctor, not another war.”

“Agent Romanoff concurs that Stark is not fit for the Avengers, but she believes there’s an opportunity to bring him on as a consultant, largely for access to Iron Man.”

“With all due respect, I’d rather put my trust in people than machines.”

Fury smirks at that. “You haven’t met this machine.”

* * *

The pictures Steve has seen on the news and in its file don’t do Iron Man justice. Unlike Stark Tower, that monstrosity ruining the city skyline designed by Stark, Iron Man is sleek and well-proportioned, its plates appearing to be sculpted in the form of an athletic man. The red and gold is eye-catching in person, and it gleams in the low light of the Triskelion while its eyes and the power source in the center of its chest glow a soft blue. There’s a whirring sound emanating from this ‘arc reactor’ and underneath a quiet thrum similar to a heartbeat. Overall, it’s a beautiful design, completely unexpected from someone whose tastes could be described as not only practical and ugly but also inexplicably flashy.

Steve walks up to the robot to stroke the planes of its chest plate, finding the metal pleasingly warm.

“You mind not pawing me?” Iron Man says blandly.

Steve is taken aback, withdrawing his touch. “Oh. Uh… sorry about that. Didn’t realize you… are you self-aware?” Did he have to ask permission from all smart appliances in the future? Has he been violating his refrigerator this entire time?

“Yes. I am a fully autonomous artificial intelligence designed by Mr. Tony Stark, capable of passing the Turing Test.”

“In English?” Steve requests.

“I can save your ass by myself, without having to be specifically programmed or ordered to do so by any of you flesh-and-blood types,” Iron Man states. “I have free will and am capable of conversation nearly indistinguishable from a real human, though the term ‘real’ in this case is a bit robo-phobic, don’t you think?”

_Now, isn’t that something._

Steve cants his head to the side. “Do you have a name?”

“Iron Man is fine.”

“Nice to meet you, Iron Man. I’m Steve. Steve Rogers.”

“Oh yes. Captain America… The one they pulled from the ice. The Capsicle. Can I call you Capsicle?”

“…Funny,” Steve deadpans, but he tries not to hold the moniker against Iron Man. His creator is Tony Stark, after all. The poor robot has it bad enough. “Just Steve is fine.”

“You’re the boss, Cap,” Iron Man states, saluting him in what would be a mocking fashion had it come from a real person.

Steve had to give it to Stark; Iron Man is a marvel of engineering. Now, if only he could have programmed him with a little less sass.

* * *

Stark Expo is a disaster. Stark’s business rival, Justin Hammer, had planned to upstage Stark at his own event by unveiling his own army of Iron Man prototypes. They go haywire almost immediately, remotely taken over by yet another terrorist out to get Stark, aiming to kill the man. Colonel Rhodes saves him, stashing him somewhere safe while the drones endanger countless innocent bystanders. Iron Man enters the scene shortly after to join Captain America and the good colonel in taking down the drones. Hammer may have (poorly) replicated the look of Iron Man, but his drones are nothing when stacked up against the ingenuity of Iron Man.

In the aftermath, while the three of them stand in the rubble of the attack, Iron Man helps steady Rhodes who leans heavily against him, having discarded the big gun Stark had likely loaned him. Steve straps his shield onto his back then hurries over to help straddle Rhodes between the two of them. They’re going to need a medic.

“Good job, team!” Iron Man says. “I think that’s a wrap. Let’s not come in tomorrow. What do you think? Let’s just take a day–”

“You are such an asshole,” Rhodes mutters. “I swear to God I’m gonna–”

“Yes, yes… you can address any complaints about my performance to _my_ _creator_ , Mr. Stark, later,” Iron Man says pointedly. He bends low to sweep the man up, holding him bridal style to carry him away from Steve and towards the arriving first responders. “Thanks for showing up, Colonel Rhodes,” he states. “Cap,” he dips his head Steve’s way in acknowledgement. “I’ll take it from here. I will inform Ms. Potts so she can get ahead of this. If you could handle Fury–”

“Say no more,” Steve agrees, watching them go for a moment before patching a call through to Fury.

“…I’m going to have a long _long_ conversation with your creator,” Rhodes adds. “He best break out a bottle of the good stuff, because he has a lot of explaining to do.”

Steve has no idea what Rhodes is going on about. Iron Man’s performance was exemplar, very impressive for a robot, particularly when stacked up against a team of mindless drones and one self-destructive maniac in a suit of armor.

* * *

Iron Man is approved for the Avengers Initiative, which means that Tony Stark will be consulting.

_Wonderful._

“Captain Rogers,” the man sticks out his hand for a shake upon formal introduction. “Nice to finally meet the legend.”

Steve ignores the gesture, his eyes boring directly into Stark’s. “We’ve actually met before. At your birthday party. You felt up my muscles and told me you weren’t a fan of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell,’ but you wouldn’t tell a soul if I let you show me the time of my life,” he says flatly.

Stark withdraws his hand and cocks his head to one side. “And did I?”

“Of course not,” Steve replies, a bit more forcefully than he meant to before clarifying, “Nothing happened.”

Stark shrugs, thumbs in his pockets, rolling heel to toe and looking blasé about the entire situation. “So, no harm no foul. Let bygones be bygones and all that.”

Steve simply stalks off, too annoyed to so much as trade barbs with the man.

* * *

A few days later Steve is sitting across from a woman in a café where the coffee costs more than an average day’s wages in 1942. He had met her on his morning run, both being a fan of a particular route through Central Park. She doesn’t know who he is, which is refreshing but also a bit challenging when trying to explain his old-man habits and lingo. Luckily, she had assumed he is a ‘hipster,’ a member of a popular subculture taking over Brooklyn obsessed with artisanal coffee, vintage clothes, and analog everything. Apparently, everything about Steve screamed old-fashioned, and that was the ‘in’ thing these days.

That still didn’t change the fact that he is literally old enough to be Amanda’s grandfather.

“I love this song,” Amanda says, referring to a pop song playing over the intercom about unforgettable girls. “You know, I’ve always wanted to go to California… Do you like Katy Perry?”

“…I am not quite sure who that is,” Steve admits. He pulls out a pen and a small notepad containing a list of things he’s missed while frozen during the last sixty-five years. “She is a singer?” he surmises, given the context, as he writes down _Katie Perry_ in small block letters.

“Are you being serious right now?” she asks, a touch annoyed. “You can just say you’re not a fan, but you don’t have to act like you’re completely unaware of current trends. It’s kind of pretentious.”

“I’m sorry?” What had Steve done wrong this time? This had been a recurring issue for him when trying to meet new friends and possible dates. Despite vintage coming back into vogue, people these days were more into the aesthetics of prior generations than the values and lived experiences. As a result, even the so-called ‘hipsters’ still looked askance at Steve, uncertain how someone so young could be so old and out-of-touch.

“Thanks for the coffee, Steve, but I need to get going,” Amanda makes her excuses, rising from her seat to exit the coffee shop.

Steve positively wilts in his seat, once again feeling out of place in a future he doesn’t understand that similarly fails to understand him.

* * *

“Tell me this isn’t the most fun you’ve had in decades, Cap,” Iron Man calls out over the Avenger’s channel, dodging a blast from the enemy of the week located in an abandoned village in one of the old eastern bloc countries of what had been the USSR in Steve’s day. The Russians had been their uneasy allies during the Survival War, but, as is often the case with these things, their nation had risen to international prominence in the aftermath alongside America, sparking what had been known as the Cold War. Its fall had led to others rising to claim their piece of the power vacuum. Some of these factions had proven even less favorable to America than the USSR had been.

Steve ducks around a stone wall of a dilapidated building, briefly taking cover before flinging himself headlong into the action, sending his shield flying, with him following shortly after to retrieve it and repeat.

“You and I have different definitions of fun!” Steve replies, launching off a tank he had disabled to tackle a small crew of enemy combatants.

“Can you two lovebirds stop flirting and concentrate?” Clint pipes up.

Steve doesn’t take kindly to the insinuation. “We’re not flirting,” he states. Granted Iron Man was programmed by Stark, but any romantic advances are likely inadvertent. As a robot, is Iron Man even capable of flirting with intent?

“There is a lot of unnecessary chatter over the comms today,” and now Natasha has joined the frivolous conversation over what should be a line to coordinate attacks and relay last-minute adjustments to their stratagems.

“Blame your boyfriend,” Iron Man quips.

Clint releases a volley of arrows to provide cover for Steve. “Not her boyfriend,” he supplies before Natasha can protest. It’s more of a reflex at this point, having become a long running joke. Supposedly Clint has a girlfriend who isn’t Nat, but no one had ever met her nor did they seem likely to in the near future, assuming she exists.

Iron Man is undeterred. “Alright; husband then. I’m both hurt and insulted I wasn’t invited to the wedding. I would have gone halfsies with Cap on a spoon from your registry.”

“Clint’s right,” Steve interjects. “You think maybe we can pick this up later?”

“Whatever you say, honey bun.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but the nickname doesn’t bother him. Iron Man can’t possibly mean anything by it.

* * *

They debrief in the helicarrier before settling in for the long ride home. Natasha and Barton disappear, probably absconding to a janitorial closet located in a security camera blindspot for some ‘we lived’ sex, those lucky bastards – though he doesn’t mean the sex so much as the companionship and just having someone to rely on – while Steve is left behind with the robot.

Iron Man lounges on a steel-reinforced chair at the deserted conference table next to Steve. “Just the two of us left and about an hour to kill,” he muses. “So spill: What does _the_ Captain America get up to for fun these days?”

Beggars can’t be choosers, and Iron Man’s company is better than nothing, so…

“I read. Missed out on a lot so I try to catch up. I also listen to baseball and draw.”

“Hm. No lady-friend in your life?”

“It’s fine,” Steve replies, his eyes distant, fingers idly tracing shapes in the metal table. “Not that you’d understand, but let’s just say it’s hard to find someone with shared life experiences in our line of work.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. This life can be a lonely existence for one such as you, living under such extraordinary circumstances,” Iron Man says sympathetically. “Must be hard adjusting.”

Steve shrugs, but his words belie his casual body language. “Yeah. One day, it’s 1945, and you’re saving New York City. You hit the water, and you think it’s over. You’re done. You can rest knowing you’ve done all you could to save as many as you could.” He ponders Iron Man’s inner life, wondering if he is even capable of one, or of understanding what Steve is trying to say about death, about survival. “And then you wake up, and… you weren’t supposed to, you know. You were done, and now you’re not. Everything here is different… Some of it better, but… They say we won the war, but they didn’t say what we lost. And so, you keep on fighting, keep on moving, trying to fix what you can, and if you keep busy enough…” he trails off. Steve must be losing his mind. He’s talking to a machine, what might as well be a toaster. There’s no way–

“…You can outrun the demons?” Iron Man finishes for him. “Outrun that sneaking suspicion you weren’t supposed to make it out when so many others – maybe even better men – didn’t?”

 _Yes,_ Steve thinks. “Did… Did Stark program you to have feelings?” he asks instead.

Iron Man pauses, appearing to hesitate as he formulates a response. “…I have an algorithm that mimics what you call ‘feelings,’ I suppose, but if you’re asking whether I can sympathize with human emotions, then yes. Mr. Stark spent a lot of time after Afghanistan thinking about the people he’d lost, and I suppose he programmed a little of that understanding in me. I guess he thought it would help me adhere to Asimov’s laws of robotics, though I still think the third one is bullshit. I’m as much a thinking being as the rest of you flesh and blood types.”

Steve has no idea what Iron Man is going on about, but he has greater concerns now that he knows the robot can understand and process human feelings.

“Are you required to relay all information to S.H.I.E.L.D., or can you be discrete?” he inquires. The last thing he needs is Fury benching him until he completes a psychological assessment determining his fitness for field work.

“I can keep a secret if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I just…” Steve covers his eyes, breathing in deep. “I could really use a friend.”

“Say no more, Cap,” Iron Man assures him, clasping his shoulder in his metal grip, squeezing it slightly in a naturalistic show of support. “So, what you’re saying is you need a shiny new wingman.”

So Iron Man isn’t the greatest at this _being human_ thing, but that’s okay; the AI has proven to be amazingly adaptable. “No… I– well, I have this list of things people have recommended I catch up on. I was wondering if you’d like to maybe watch a couple movies with me?” Perhaps add some color commentary in between.

“…I could do that, too.”

“Great!” Steve pulls out his portable notebook to flip through it. “So, someone suggested _Planet of the Apes_. They said I might find it relevant to my situation.”

“A little harsh but okay,” Iron Man replies enigmatically. “We can use the movie theater at Stark Tower when we return to the city. I don’t fancy standing for two hours in the Triskelion, and I know the theater seats in the tower are calibrated to support my weight.”

“You sure Mr. Stark won’t mind?”

“No. He already added you to the list of pre-approved personnel with access to his private floor when he became a part of the Avengers.”

Steve’s lips purse into a frown. “He isn’t a part of the Avengers.”

“Technicalities.”

* * *

“So… the entire time, Taylor is on a future Earth destroyed by humanity and taken over by advanced apes?” Steve summarizes the end as he watches the credits scroll by.

“Yep.”

He seems to consider the implications. “Huh, so when Rumlow said this was similar to my situation…”

“His opinion of the present is – shall we say – unfavorable,” Iron Man concludes. “You want a good time travel movie?” he asks before calling out, “Hey J.A.R.V.I.S.!”

“Yes Iron Man,” A disembodied voice replies, startling Steve.

“Play _Terminator_.”

Steve looks around for the source. “Who was that?”

“Hm?” Iron Man cants his head in his direction. “Oh, that’s J.A.R.V.I.S. He’s a fellow AI. Doesn’t have a body like I do. Say hello to Cap, J.”

The AI’s voice floats down from above. “Hello Captain Rogers. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Sir talks about you quite often.”

Steve looks perplexed. “He does?”

“J. is exaggerating,” Iron Man cuts in all-too-quickly. He relaxes into the cushions, already flattening irreparably under his weight. “C’mon now. Play the next movie.”

Watching Terminator, Steve figures it’s no wonder Iron Man likes it so much. A machine goes ham on a bunch of humans then travels back in time, inadvertently creating the future that it had tried so desperately to thwart. The storyline is practically Shakespearean to a robot like himself.

Steve looks at Iron Man in a considering manner, sizing up his mechanical friend. “Say, you wouldn’t plot to cripple our communications and defense systems, betray us all, and attempt to go back in time to kill the savior of humanity, would you?”

“Are you asking if I’m a proto-Skynet?” Iron Man doesn’t sound insulted so much as amused.

“Stark must have programmed some safeguards into you to prevent a sort of mechanized Armageddon,” Steve presses.

“Yeah, he did. Give the man a little credit.”

“I would sleep a bit easier if he wasn’t so careless and self-destructive in general.”

_Iron Man has met Tony Stark, has he not?_

But the android is simply quiet for a spell. “You don’t like him, do you?” he surmises.

Steve’s opinion of the man isn’t polite, and normally he wouldn’t pull any punches voicing the unfavorable assessment anyway (so low is his opinion of Tony Stark), but the fact that he is Iron Man’s creator gives him pause. Steve wouldn’t take too kindly to anyone insulting Sarah Rogers after all.

“…He made you, so how bad can he possibly be?” Steve says instead, taking a more diplomatic approach.

Iron Man seems to accept the answer then requests J.A.R.V.I.S. to queue up what he insists is the far-superior sequel, _Terminator 2,_ where the very same robot from the first film turns out to be the protector of humanity, bravely sacrificing himself to save the very humans who previously sought his destruction.

It’s the start of an unlikely friendship between the man out of time and the android from the future.

* * *

There are still many things Steve doesn’t understand about this century – why pork tastes so dry and bland these days, the frenzy surrounding Black Friday, the wild popularity of American Football culminating in something called the Super Bowl with its obscenely expensive commercials people look forward to watching in lieu of the actual game – but Iron Man remains a patient guide in a future to which Steve must adapt, dispensing near encyclopedic knowledge with humor and wit.

“Americans are so obsessed with cutting fat out of their diet that they bred pigs to tastelessness like forty or fifty years ago,” Iron Man tells him while he watches Steve eat an early dinner at the Triskelion.

“But this tastes like sawdust,” Steve complains, holding up a forkful of dry pork loin. The meat is clearly overcooked and practically crumbly where Steve had cut into the damn thing. He’s used to military rations, and the Triskelion is government housing so he hadn’t expected much, but still. If Steve had wanted to eat the dry-erase board erasers, there were plenty in the conference room.

“Just stick to bacon like the rest of you confusing fleshy beings, and you’ll do fine, or switch to chicken.”

“Yeah, I was going to ask about that, too. Why are chickens so big these days? I thought they were small turkeys at first,” Steve says, before he plops the bite into his mouth and chews glumly, washing it down with a Coke made from high-fructose corn syrup instead of the cane sugar of his childhood.

“Look, the answer to anything you’re going to ask is generally profit margins,” Iron Man replies. “Welcome to American capitalism.”

And that’s that.

* * *

Steve hears him – that telltale whirr of Iron Man’s arc reactor – before he feels the disappointingly human fingers light on his elbow.

Confused, Steve turns to find his friend’s damnable creator instead.

Stark hesitates as he witnesses Steve’s face fall, taking on a dour expression, but still he speaks, aiming for friendliness.

“Hey Cap, I was wondering if you’d like to get dinner with me so we can continue our discussion from the debrief concerning Iron Man’s new weapons and upgrades to his operating system. We can discuss what sort of air support you can expect from him and any suggestions for future improvements you may have. There’s this place in Manhattan serving up heritage meats–”

Steve would rather not, but he tries to be polite. “No thank you,” he declines the invitation.

“You sure? The ingredients are locally-sourced, grown using older farming techniques like back in the good old days,” Stark insists, waggling his brow.

Steve would rather eat his boots.

“You don’t have to go through all the trouble. Food here’s fine, and I’m going to be late to mess hall, so if you’ll excuse me–”

Stark doesn’t take the hint. “No trouble at all. It would be an honor.”

So, Steve decides to lay it out for the man so there can be no confusion, no mixed signals, as to his meaning and intentions. “Look, I tried being nice, but the truth is that no, I would prefer not to have dinner with you, Stark. I’d rather keep our relationship strictly professional.”

Stark’s shoulders slump, looking severely disappointed. “…Alright.”

The man must be unused to rejection, but he needs to learn he can’t buy everyone and everything, Steve thinks with some satisfaction. He heads out alone towards the cafeteria, where they are serving meatloaf in the shape and density of hockey pucks with a side of watery mashed potatoes and limp green beans. It may not be the best, but it’s leagues above spending an evening in the company of Tony Stark.

* * *

Later, Steve asks Iron Man about what he had heard, after they’ve trained as a team in the Triskelion gym. “Does Mr. Stark carry an arc reactor with him to – I don’t know – charge his cellular phone?” _or something equally asinine._ He hadn’t ruled out a vibrating butt plug.

Iron Man is quiet for a long moment, and Steve thinks he may have short-circuited before the robot asks, his tone tentative even through the speech modulator, “…Why do you ask?”

“It’s just… he sounds like you, like your power source. It’s a low buzz that I’m sure most people can’t hear, but–” Steve taps his ear lightly. “Enhanced hearing.” It can be a curse as well as a blessing, especially if he is right about that butt plug.

Iron Man rubs the back of his neck, almost human in how he replicates nervous tics. “Well… you see, it’s not common knowledge, but Mr. Stark has this heart condition. His um… pacemaker, I guess… is powered by a miniature arc reactor similar to the technology running this,” he palms the light at the center of his chest. “He would appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone. Not many know.”

_Oh._

“…Is he dying?” Now Steve feels like an asshole about the whole sex toy assumption.

“Not in the immediate future, no, but people hear Stark has a potentially life-threatening condition and SI’s stock takes a beating. No one cares about nuance.”

“Well, my lips are sealed,” Steve assures him. “It’s not like I really talk to anyone else anyway.”

Iron Man is his only real friend in this future after all.

Perhaps that is why Steve later finds himself in a predicament of a completely different nature.

“Hold up. Are you telling me you’ve never even _danced_?” Iron Man asks him during yet another slow day when they had gotten around to talking about the dames (or lack thereof) from Steve’s past. “Not even once?”

Steve has a sneaking suspicion they aren’t talking about literal dancing, but–

“Well, Bucky used to try to set me up all the time, but I was a scrawny guy back in the day. Short, too. Any blind date I had often ended in disappointment the minute they saw me,” Steve explains, and sometimes he still felt that small even now, especially when it came to his nonexistent love life. “Women weren’t exactly lining up to dance with a guy they might step on.”

“You weren’t that bad-looking,” Iron Man states before clarifying, “I saw your file. You were kind of cute.”

“…Thanks?” Steve shuffles his feet, uncertain how to respond to a compliment about his pre-serum body from anyone, much less a robot. Could Iron Man even feel sexual attraction, or did he mean cute in the same way humans found puppies cute?

“I’m sure I can help you find a _dance_ partner,” he offers. “You have seen _you_ in the mirror, right? I’m surprised you don’t have to beat them off with a stick, to be honest. You were attractive back then, but now? I’m sure there are a ton of women lining up now. You just need the confidence to ask.”

Okay, that answers Steve’s internal beefcake vs. puppy debate. At the very least, Iron Man had some concept of what would be attractive in the sexual sense, even if his calibration is way off.

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“You ever even try?”

_Peggy…_

“I figured I’d wait for the right partner, and when I did find her… Well, let’s just say I missed our date by sixty-five years and change.”

Iron Man cants his head, observing Steve’s demeanor, finally deciding that: “Maybe you need lessons. How about you and I hit some clubs, and I’ll show you how to dance?”

“…What?” Steve can’t have possibly heard him right.

“You and me. Dancing.”

“I don’t know… clubs aren’t usually my thing,” he hedges. They’re much too loud, too hot and sweaty, and Steve swears he can feel the beat reverberate through his entire body. In short: Not his idea of a good time.

“Okay, not a club, but I can take you to a dance hall. Swing, ballroom… square dancing?” he offers, though the last one is said as if the very thought pains him but he will suffer through it for Steve’s sake.

“I probably have two left feet.”

“You won’t know for sure until you try.”

* * *

Wanting to avoid the public spectacle of Iron Man and Captain America dancing together and the paparazzi circus that is sure to follow, they decide to retire to the Stark Tower basement where Stark maintains his own training hall. In preparation, Iron Man had interfaced with J.A.R.V.I.S. to arrange for Howard’s record collection and old-style record player to be pulled from storage and delivered to the appropriate destination by the time they arrive.

“Are you sure Stark won’t mind?” Steve asks, hesitating to encroach on Stark’s home considering how little he knew or liked the man in question.

But Iron Man seems unconcerned. “It’s fine. Mr. Stark has given me free run of the Tower and trusts me to vet and approve any guests.”

“It’s just… I recently declined his invitation to dinner, and I’m not sure it would be appropriate for me to show up to one of his homes uninvited.”

“Mr. Stark doesn’t hold it against you. Contrary to popular opinion, he can take no for an answer,” he states, one arm held out to Steve. “Now, hop on. I’ll give you a ride.”

They had done this before in the heat of battle, but now with no sense of urgency, no real reason to be so close, Steve is uncertain how to mount Iron Man for a casual flight through the city. He steps onto the robot’s foot and tentatively reaches out to wrap an arm under Iron Man’s and cross the expanse of his back.

“This okay?”

Iron Man similarly reaches over to clasp Steve under his far armpit, making sure he’s secure. “You ready?” At Steve’s nod, he aims his face skywards. “Then let’s go!”

They zip through the city skyline, wind roaring in Steve’s ears, buffeting against his face, and whipping his hair back, but Steve isn’t afraid. He has Iron Man holding on to him, keeping him safe as they tear past buildings and over streets to reach Stark Tower in record time. Iron Man lands in the hangar, choosing to forgo what looks like a landing pad on the large balcony several floors down.

“Do you normally enter through Stark’s private quarters?” he asks. He had thought he’d seen the glint of a mechanical structure of unknown functionality circling the landing pad.

“…Yes, but not when I’m bringing home guests.”

It wouldn’t be unusual for Stark’s bodyguard to have direct access to his floor, so Steve accepts the answer as they move towards the service elevator to ride down to the basement.

Once there, Steve dusts off Howard’s old records, choosing a slow, bittersweet tune. He’s not nearly experienced or talented enough to pull off a faster dance, but when the first notes warble out from the record player, Iron Man looks askance at Steve’s selection.

“Why Cap, are you trying to seduce me?” he teases.

“I’ve never danced before, remember?” Steve explains, holding out his hand in invitation to the robot across from him. “Unless you want me to toss you into a wall, we probably shouldn’t start with swing.”

“I am much too heavy–”

“I bench 1200 pounds.”

“Okay, slow dance it is.”

Iron Man accepts his outstretched hand, fingers interlacing into Steve’s own as the man pulls him in close. Steve’s arm loops around to rest his free hand across the robot’s mid-back, while Iron Man places his own on Steve’s upper arm.

“Now, follow me,” Iron Man says. He steps back as Steve steps forward, and he counts off a simple four-step. “See? You’re a natural.”

_One-Two-Three-Four_

_One-Two-Three-Four_

They sway to the music, and once Steve feels comfortable enough to stop counting the beats in his head and watching his feet, he finds he quite enjoys the rhythmic motion, the proximity of another being, even if he happened to not be human. He tips his head down, resting his temple against Iron Man’s shoulder, his breath fogging the crimson metal of his neck.

“Is this everything you’d ever dreamed it would be, Cap?” Iron Man murmurs.

“Mm hm…” He’s content, just like this, holding and being held for the first time in decades, listening to the music as well as that low-key whirr in the center of Iron Man’s chest and just barely audible underneath that, a simulated heartbeat Steve can hear quicken. He can’t possibly be overtaxing Iron Man’s internal pumps and whatever mechanisms allow him to function to such a high degree, but he has to check. He raises his head. “Are you alright?”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a sound, like a pump or something that has picked up speed,” Steve clarifies, looking into Iron Man’s golden faceplate.

“That’s just my… um… my transmission fluid. Got to keep my gears running smoothly.”

“Oh, alright then,” Steve says, his own face pinking at their proximity as his heart rate accelerates as well.

_Oh._

_Oh shit._ He can’t possibly… not with _Iron Man._ He isn’t even human, for Chrissakes.

Steve had always been a bit more _flexible_ in his preferences, which had the potential to be a serious problem in 1942 – he had been unaccountably relieved when he had fallen in love with Peggy, a woman – but based on his research of societal changes in the past several decades, bisexuality apparently didn’t carry the same social stigma it used to. So, of course, Steve being Steve and always needing to do everything the hard way, he had to come up with whole new ways of being a sexual deviant.

“You okay there, Cap?” Iron Man says with some concern.

What did it say about Steve that the only person he can truly connect with in this future is not a person at all?

He halts their dance, stepping away from Iron Man. “It’s nothing. I just remembered I threw my laundry in the wash before heading out for our training session. It’s probably done now. I should get back to switch it over before it gets that mildew-y smell.”

“Do you need me to call you a car?”

“No, that’s okay, I can use the run,” Steve declines, already heading towards the elevator. “Thank you again for the lesson.”

“Any time, Cap.”

* * *

It was bound to happen eventually.

The Avengers try, of course; they try to minimize the risk that the next mission can be their last, but in their line of work, there are no guarantees.

So when a member of a techno-terrorist cell manages to incapacitate Iron Man with a small localized EMP, and he falls limp and dim, crashing to the floor like the broken automaton he is, Steve sees red. He smashes his shield into the techno-terrorist before he can snap and disconnect Iron Man’s head from the heavier main body, likely assuming the tech to recreate the advanced AI lies within his more-portable head. Steve continues to fight off the insurgents, fueled by a cold fury and desperation, keeping them away from Iron Man’s prone form. If there’s any chance Stark can reboot his consciousness into a new body, Steve is not about to lose him.

There’s a shout through the comms and a sharp pain in Steve’s neck as Clint takes out the sniper a moment too late.

* * *

When Steve comes to, he’s lying in a hospital bed in the Triskelion days later, with Tony Stark himself inexplicably occupying the chair at his bedside. The Avengers, including their consultants apparently, must have been taking turns sitting up with him, and Steve chose the exact wrong moment to wake up.

It’s a fine explanation. Only… Stark’s brows are drawn together and his mouth downturned, his fine lines looking deeper than usual with dark bags underlining his eyes. He looks (and smells) like he hasn’t showered for days. “You are a goddamn idiot, you know that?”

Steve doesn’t have the patience for this. “Spare me the lecture.”

“No. What the hell were you doing risking your life for Iron Man? I can’t believe…” he takes a deep breath, “He’s an old bag of bolts and just not worth it.”

Logically, Steve knows Stark is right, but–

“You should value him more,” he counters. What is the measure of humanity anyway? Biology – the blood and sinew that make up the physical body – or the capacity to feel, to care about your fellow beings?

Tony scowls. “I value him just fine. You’re the one with an inflated sense of his worth.”

Later, Steve will blame the residual horse tranquilizers yet to clear his system for what he says next: “Iron Man might be made of metal, but he has unique memories and feelings – you know that, don’t you? He’s a person, and one worth saving. Wish I could say the same about present company.”

There’s a flash of hurt, of vulnerability, in Stark’s eyes, but it passes quickly. He rises from his seat, taking additional seconds to straighten (the man must be stiff from sitting for so long or perhaps it’s simply age), and overextends his back in an exaggerated stretch. “Well, since you’re awake and feeling well enough to be snappish, I’ll get the nurse.”

Steve sighs. “Stark, I didn’t mean–”

“Oh you meant it,” he says, making his way to the door. “It wasn’t polite, but you meant it.” He looks over his shoulder, giving him a two-finger salute. “See you later, Cap.”

* * *

Steve returns to active duty, the super-soldier serum working to speed up his healing with no ill residual effects from his brush with death. He doesn’t see Stark anymore, but he does occasionally see Iron Man, the robot having returned to fighting form in short order, but he seems more aloof, only interacting with Steve on a more-professional level and usually only in the presence of Nat or Clint. It’s not that Steve has anything against the other two, but he and Iron Man can’t relate to each other in the same way when they’re around.

And so when Iron Man leaves the room five minutes after Steve has joined their little party for lunch, Clint says bluntly and with little preamble, “Can you just apologize to the guy so things can go back to normal?”

Natasha kicks him under the table.

“Ouch!”

“Could you maybe be a little less insensitive?” she says, sipping her coconut water.

Clint scrapes his chair across the floor as he pushes back, away from her. “What? I’m just saying what we’re both thinking.”

“There’s a thing called tact that you clearly lack.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Steve agrees before he has to hear them argue over the finer points of how to tell your team leader he is being an idiot. He gets up and follows after Iron Man.

Steve catches up to him just outside the barracks on his way towards the main entrance of the Triskelion. “Iron Man, wait up!” he calls out, jogging to catch up when the robot pauses. “We haven’t really had a chance to talk about what happened–”

“I went down, and you saved me. End of story.” Iron Man turns away, intending to continue his exit.

Steve reaches out to capture his elbow. “Can we just talk… in private?”

So they return to Steve’s barren quarters, which contain a bed, a bookcase, and a chair for reading, but none of the regulation furniture is likely to support Iron Man’s weight without collapsing, so both choose to stand.

“Look… I know you’re probably sore at me for failing to account for the possibility you may have been a target on our last mission. I should have done better reconnaissance and known not to call you in,” Steve begins, clasping Iron Man by the shoulder. They had been _techno_ -terrorists after all; their goal is practically their title.

“That’s not why I have been avoiding you,” Iron Man replies, and Steve thinks he may even hear a sigh in the statement, though it had not come through his voice modulator. “I think you and I may have gotten too close. On a personal level. You took an unacceptable, unnecessary risk–”

“And you dropped like a sack of potatoes. They would have taken your head to get to your tech, and then where would you be, huh?” Steve crosses his arms, his shoulders tight with annoyance. “Wrecking havoc across the world? Using your talents fighting on the wrong side, fighting against me?” Would Steve even be able to raise his shield and stand against a former friend, someone he ~~most-likely~~ ~~probably~~ definitely(?) loved?

Iron Man waves off his concern. “The tech would have been destroyed if they succeeded in removing my head.”

“You don’t know that! If I’ve learned anything about computers, I know that they can hack you. They almost did, too; almost hacked your head clear off, and then they would have had you.”

“…I don’t think that term means what you think it means, but trust me when I say that I am unhackable. They can destroy me, but they will never be able to turn me or my tech to their cause.”

“Like that’s any better.”

“It could be worse.”

Iron Man can be so frustrating. “You don’t get it, do you?” Steve shouts at the robot’s implacable face. “I love you, you jerk!”

That seems to stun Iron Man momentarily as he tries to process what his squishy, fleshy friend is going on about. Steve can nearly see him parse the phrase, understanding each word individually but discovering that when put together in that order, the sentiment and meaning underlying the confession makes no sense.

Iron Man steps back, away from Steve. “…You can’t possibly.”

“And why not?” Steve challenges him. Now that it’s out there, he finds himself protective of the very feelings he had initially denied all those months ago. “You’re… I don’t know if you can appreciate what I’m saying, but you’re so very human, more real to me than most people in this time. I know you probably don’t return my feelings, and that’s okay. I know nothing can ever come of it, and it’s not even appropriate considering I’m your superior officer, but… I- I thought you should know. I love you, Iron Man.”

“I- I do care for you too, Steve,” and the name sounds foreign spoken in his voice. “I care about you a lot.”

Steve tips his head to the side. He had never considered the possibility Iron Man might return his love. “You said Stark programmed you to simulate and understand feelings. Are you– are you capable of love?”

“That’s the controversy right there, Cap. Some would say I’m not,” and he chuckles a bit at that, as if amused by a private joke, “but I am.”

“And can you feel pleasure?” Steve asks, but he pinks at the suggestion, at the possibility that Iron Man and he could actually–

“Not in the same sense, like through my metal skin or anything. I don’t have the same external touch receptors you have,” Iron Man explains, and Steve feels unaccountably disappointed. “But I can feel something akin to pleasure. It feels like a fitzing across my internal circuits if I had to describe it.”

Steve doesn’t even know how to ask, but he tries. “How do I...” he rolls his hand in a futile attempt to relay his meaning. _How can I inspire that feeling in you_ is what he wants to say.

“I can’t have sex if that’s what you’re thinking,” Iron Man states flatly.

“Sex isn’t the be-all, end-all of relationships.”

“Steve… you’re only saying this because you haven’t put yourself out there. You’ve never even _danced_ with anyone else before. How can you possibly know what you’re missing if you’ve never–”

Steve approaches the robot. “I know I like spending time with you. I love you, and this feeling,” he taps his heart with a closed fist. “It’s worth it.” He reaches out to cup Iron Man’s face, gazing lovingly into that golden veneer. “Can I kiss you?”

Iron Man leans towards Steve, which the latter takes as consent to close the distance and press his lips against the seam of the armor where his mouth would be. His surface may be firmer than flesh, but he’s warm, like human skin and Steve melts against him as Iron Man wraps his arms around his waist, pressing him in closer.

Steve can feel that telltale flutter in his belly, and he wonders if Iron Man feels the same way, that wonderful fizzle running slipshod across his own internal circuits.

* * *

It’s another two weeks before Steve sees Stark again, when Iron Man is temporarily out of commission for routine maintenance. His boyfriend(?) had often shied away from the topic of his creator with Steve, never giving his opinion one way or the other, but Steve could tell his animosity towards Stark bothered Iron Man. Perhaps it’s even a bit unfair to the man himself. In the months since the Avengers formation, Stark had cleaned up his act, abstaining from public drunkenness and the many affairs that had kept tongues wagging and the paparazzi busy.

Besides, Stark may not be a member of the Avengers, but he is an integral part of their team. Maybe it is time for Steve to bury the proverbial hatchet, to start fresh.

With that in mind, Steve approaches the man after his next presentation detailing the upgrades to Iron Man. “Hello again, Mr. Stark.”

“…Hey,” Stark greets him, an unreadable expression gracing his features. Perhaps this is awkward for both of them, considering their last conversation.

“I just wanted to apologize for what I said before,” Steve says, his tone sincere. “I really didn’t mean it, and – this isn’t an excuse for what I said, but it is an explanation – I was angry and lashed out at you because you happened to be standing there. It was completely uncalled for, so I am sorry that I was unfair to you.”

Stark seems to consider his words before shrugging, brushing off the original insult as if it had meant nothing. “Apology accepted.”

“I hope we can work together in a better, more productive way going forward.” Steve sticks out his hand for a firm shake, which Stark also accepts.

“Glad to be onboard, Cap.”

* * *

S.H.I.E.L.D. activates the Tesseract, opening a wormhole from which emerges Loki, Prince of Asgard, who steals the cube and declares his intention to conquer humanity. Requiring additional scientific expertise, Natasha leaves to recruit a Dr. Bruce Banner, full-time expert in gamma radiation and part-time mean green fighting machine. They capture and (just as quickly) lose Loki but run into his elder (adopted) brother, Thor, who agrees to join them in their fight against Loki’s Chitauri forces invading New York City.

Rallying together in a common cause, Natasha plans to intercept the scepter and close the wormhole while the other five fight off the alien invasion on the ground. It’s a tough battle, but they’ve still got a chance. Unfortunately, the World Security Council disagrees, launching a nuclear missile set to decimate Manhattan in a bid to stop the invasion immediately and permanently. Ever the hero, Iron Man intercepts the missile, directing it upwards toward the portal while Steve watches helplessly from the ground.

And that’s when he gets a call from Stark on a private channel. Steve considers ignoring it, but Stark might have some insight, some assurances, about Iron Man that Steve needs right now, so he switches frequencies.

“Hey Cap,” Stark sounds chipper, though he must know about the attacks, likely being one of the first to evacuate via private jet.

“Stark, this isn’t a good time. I’m kind of in the middle of something. Can I call you back later?” Steve says, head tipped back to watch Iron Man’s ascension.

“Later’s no good. I don’t know if I’ll be able to pick up what with my billionaire playboy lifestyle. Who else is going to guest-judge the Miss America pageant? Bill Gates? Melinda isn’t going to like that.”

“As much as I enjoy our little conversations, can this wait? Iron Man is doing something heroically stupid right now.”

Stark chuckles. “Kind’a hot, right?”

Steve rolls his eyes, throwing his shield to ricochet against a Chitauri warrior, providing cover for Thor. He catches it and brings the shield down on an enemy combatant’s head before turning to side-swipe yet another. “…You have back-ups for Iron Man, don’t you? If something were to happen to him, you’d be able to bring him back?”

“Sorry Cap, Iron Man is one of a kind, and I- I don’t think he’s coming back from this,” he replies, the regret audible even filtered through a huff of exertion.

“Stark?”

“I just wanted to say that I’ve always valued our friendship,” he continues, not acknowledging the interruption.

 _Friendship?_ Apprehension grows in Steve’s gut as he blocks yet another strike. He knows what the last confessions of a dying man sound like. “What–”

“I thought you should know that,” Stark hurries along, as if trying to say his piece before some quickly-approaching deadline. “I’ve always had a thing for Captain America, but Steve Rogers... you’re stubborn and an ass, but you’re also the best man I’ve ever known, and you- you didn’t disappoint.”

Steve presses his fingers against the comm in his ear, trying to pick up any background noises to ascertain what the other man might be doing. “Tony… where are you calling me from exactly?”

“I’m sorry, and I lo–” The feed cuts off shortly after Iron Man crosses into the wormhole. Steve looks on in horror, the final piece slotting into place.

He switches back to the regular channel.

“I repeat: I’ve got the scepter. Ready on your order,” Natasha reports over the Avengers comms.

“Wait!” Steve exclaims. “Stark is up there!”

“Up where?”

“In Iron Man,” Steve spins, taking out two Chitauri then flipping over their bodies to clip a third. “Iron Man is a suit. He is Iron Man. I repeat: Tony Stark is Iron Man. Do not close the portal.”

Iron Man is not a robot. It’s armor. Stark has always been in the armor, even when…

Soft lips against a warm faceplate – Iron man had always been so warm – and metal arms entwined with his own.

Steve disregards the memories. He can be embarrassed later, when Stark is safe so Steve can strangle him for risking his goddamn life and having the gall to be annoyed when Steve did the same for him. But all that is for later, when he is safe and alive and on the ground, his neck in range of Steve’s twitching fingers.

“We cannot wait,” Thor tells him, as the explosion from the Chitauri mothership barrels down on them, threatening to breech the portal. “Captain.”

Steve doesn’t want to leave Iron Man, but he cannot risk a firestorm raining down on New York City, rendering Stark’s sacrifice for naught.

Still, Steve is never going to forgive himself for what happens next.

“Close it,” he orders and watches as the beam holding the portal open dissipates. He looks down, unable to watch as the sky closes up, sealing Iron Man’s death.

But when he manages to return his gaze skyward moments later, he sees it. Iron Man diving towards Earth, having made it through. Steve’s heart soars. The son of a bitch did it; he actually did it and managed to return in time. But it becomes immediately apparent that there’s something wrong. Stark is hurtling towards Earth, but–

“He’s not slowing down,” Thor says, spinning his hammer in preparation for flight, but he’s already too late to stop Stark’s terminal descent. Steve can only watch, helpless, as his beloved plunges to his death.

Just then, Hulk launches into the air from a nearby building, catching Iron Man and sliding down a building to slow them down. He springs off to land on the ground near Steve and Thor, turning at the last minute to protect Stark and kicking up dust and debris as he skids across the asphalt.

Thor hurries over and rips off Iron Man’s faceplate, revealing to all assembled what Steve already knows.

It’s Tony Stark, the Avengers’ benefactor, the man in a can who flew a missile through an alien wormhole to save them all at the cost of his own life. The arc reactor in his chest is dim and silent, absent the telltale hum that always accompanied him in life. Steve rests a palm over Stark’s ruined heart and feels lost. It is obvious in hindsight – the heartbeat under the hum of his reactor – a sound common to both robot and man, but Steve had been so stubborn, so blinded by his preconceptions of Tony Stark that he never realized the truth right in front of him. Now, all of it – his memories of Iron Man fighting by his side, dancing with him, kissing him… those quiet moments after battle when they just held each other – it all coalesces around the flesh and blood man lying broken before him.

Hulk roars at the heavens, grieving a fallen comrade, but this startles Stark awake, his eyes darting wildly and arc reactor blinking blue as it whirrs back to life.

“What the hell?” Feeling the breeze on his face and seeing the world without the filter of his faceplate, he weakly lifts an arm before dropping it, likely realizing any attempt at anonymity is a foregone conclusion at this juncture. “What just happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me.”

Overcome with relief and happiness, Steve does just that, pressing his lips to Stark’s own. The man stiffens in surprise.

Steve breaks away, breathing hard for a beat. “We won,” he says, his face much too close to Stark’s, so he settles back on his haunches to give the man some breathing room.

“Okay, that just happened. That’s a thing that’s happening now,” Stark rambles, looking between the three of them for confirmation that this isn’t some fever dream brought about by near-death hysteria.

“So, the two of you… Iron Man and Captain America. You are together, yes?” Thor hazards a guess. The alternative is that their fearless, virtuous leader had just sexually assaulted a vulnerable ally too incapacitated to resist his advances.

Stark looks to Steve who replies, “No, but maybe… it’s complicated?” Steve had been sort-of dating an incredibly advanced AI piloting a body of metal and circuitry not too long ago, and for that AI to turn out to be a living, breathing man… it was quite the adjustment, but no greater than the one he had to make when he first realized he had feelings for a robot.

It is only after they have dealt with Loki, after Stark has changed into his normal clothing and leads them to a small joint for some post-victory shwarma, that it hits Steve.

Iron Man is Tony Stark of all people. If he had thought it a stretch to imagine Stark had created Iron Man, then to find out they were one and the same… how could Steve reconcile the two men: his wise-cracking, selfless friend who leaped headfirst into any battle and the loud-mouthed, drunken blowhard who cared little for anyone or anything that didn’t increase his bottom line or inflate his own ego. Which one is the reality and which the illusion? Is Tony Stark the real man and Iron Man the hero he wished he could be but could only stomach the charade for a few hours at a time?

Had Steve fallen in love with an elaborate lie?

No. There’s no way someone as shallow as Stark could have sustained such an illusion unless there is a kernel of truth at the heart of it all. Such a lie would take dedication, intelligence, and a significant amount of time – which granted, Stark has all three in spades – but to what end? Fucking with Captain America and the entire free world?

Or perhaps that had been incidental, an (un)happy accident. There’s no way Stark could have known about Captain America two years before they found and fished Steve from arctic waters, inexplicably alive. Maybe this whole Iron Man stunt had started as something simpler: a sales pitch for a new line of armor to the DoD or a bid to raise goodwill among the American people so they wouldn’t look into his shadier business dealings after the whole Ten Rings thing blew up so spectacularly and publically in his face. Perhaps it was supposed to be a temporary thing that had gone on far too long.

 _Are you– are you capable of love?_ Steve had asked that fateful day in his quarters.

 _That’s the controversy right there, Cap. Some would say I’m not,_ Iron Man – no… Tony Stark – had replied.

Had it really been a lie all along?

“Hey Steve, you’ve been pretty quiet all afternoon. What’s wrong?” Stark approaches him after the others have filed out of the restaurant, leaving only the two of them behind. Natasha had pulled Hawkeye away and Banner had left with Thor who had promised to show him how to mix an Asgardian hangover cure for his post-Hulk hormone surges.

“Just thinking,” Steve admits.

“Yeah, me too. I saw some pretty wild stuff up there, not going to lie. I was thinking if that’s what’s coming for Earth, then we may need something more than the six of us to counter them next time. I have this idea about a suit of armor around the world, but it’s in the pre- pre-planning stages. Very early. Not ready for showtime.”

“I wasn’t talking about that,” Steve says, but he makes a mental note to discuss that whole armor-around-the-world concept with Stark later. In his review of the history he had missed while on the ice, he had seen how a bid for security could be leveraged for a more-authoritarian government and often curtailed important freedoms. Such was the case during the McCarthyism era bringing about the rise of the House of Un-American Activities Committee in the ‘50s and even now in a post-9/11 America. But that’s an issue for another day. “I was thinking about how you are Iron Man.”

“Oh. That,” Stark’s tone drops. “You should know, Cap, that I never meant to lie to you, but it is hard for me to be both Tony Stark and Iron Man. I have my responsibilities to Stark Industries, and at the time, I wasn’t in the right state of mind to come out as Iron Man. Not to mention the hit our stocks would have taken if the truth had come out–”

So, the motive had been financial after all. Steve is uncertain why he is so surprised.

“–and Pepper would have killed me. Absolutely murdered me dead if I created more of a PR debacle than it already was. You’ve met Pepper, right? I like people to think I run the show over at SI, but it’s mostly her. I’m more afraid of her quitting than just about anything,” he admits, nervously massaging the back of his neck and surreptitiously scanning his surroundings as if his ex-girlfriend and current CEO may pop up at any second with her letter of resignation.

“You’re saying this – all of it – was a money and reputation thing?” Steve asks incredulously.

Stark pauses and gives Steve an odd look. “That’s your take-away from what I said? And here I thought you were smart.”

“Again with the insults?” Steve is gravely disappointed to discover that Tony Stark is who he has always been: a jerk with a superiority complex.

Stark breathes deeply as he roughly rubs his face downward with both palms. “Look, I don’t expect you of all people to understand because you’re perfect. You’ve lived your whole goddamn life as a self-sacrificing saint, expecting nothing in return, but me? I’ve been a narcissistic asshole for pretty much 95% of my adult life. I know what I am. Tony Stark is callous and greedy, calculating and dismissive. He can never measure up to the paragon of virtue that is Captain America, but Iron Man? Iron Man is – was – a blank slate. He doesn’t have any history or baggage. He’s a pure, uncomplicated hero people actually like.”

Steve raises a brow. “What? You’re saying people don’t like Tony Stark?”

“Do you like Tony Stark?” Stark challenges him. The answer is obvious when Steve hesitates to respond. “Thought so,” he says coolly, his point made even as the confirmation appears to dampen his mood. “But you liked Iron Man.”

And Steve can’t deny that, but–

“So, which one are you?” he asks instead, leaning back and crossing his arms.

“Hm?”

“Iron Man or _the_ Tony Stark?” He idly taps fingers across the opposite bicep.

Tony looks up in thought. “…Both, I suppose. I’ve been Tony Stark forever, but Iron Man… I am Iron Man,” he shrugs. “He’s who I am when there’s no expectation to be who I am in my day-to-day, if that makes sense.”

 _Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth,_ Oscar Wilde had written.

“Stark… I mean, Tony,” Steve starts to say, drawing the other man’s attention. “I- I’ve… well, since the day I woke up here in this time, Iron Man has been one of my best friends. It’s true I had my doubts about you, but I’ve never doubted Iron Man, and now that I know you’re one and the same, I don’t see a reason for that to change.”

“Are you sure?” Tony asks, his voice uncertain but tinged with hope.

Steve maintains steady eye contact. “Never been more sure of anything in my life,” he confirms. He leans forward, reaching over to place his hand over Tony’s. “And there’s one more thing. Today when I thought I almost lost you…” he sucks in a breath. “Look, I may be the world’s leading authority on ‘waiting too long,’ but I’d like to think I’ve learned from my mistakes, so… here’s the deal: In the past year, I’ve grown fond of Iron Man, and if you’d be open to it, I’d like to maybe take you out to dinner sometime. Out of the suit. Just the two of us.”

“Why Cap, are you asking me out on a date?” Tony says, hand splayed against the arc reactor lodged in his chest, giving him one of his trademark smarmy Tony Stark smirks.

But Steve needs to make one thing clear. “I understand as your superior officer, it might be–”

“Superior nothing. I’m a billionaire; I don’t need your money,” Tony scoffs, waving him off.

Steve crinkles his brow. “Are we even paying you?”

“Exactly. I’m severely undercompensated considering my normal consulting rates.”

“Tony,” and the name cuts right through the bullshit. “I’d like to take you out, but only if _you_ want to go. I’m just letting you know that you can always say no to me, about this or any personal request, now or in the future, and it won’t affect your standing with the team.”

“…I’d love to,” he states, before clarifying, “Go out with you, that is.”

Steve smiles at that. “And how do you feel about dancing after?”

“Okay, but only if I lead.”

He can work with that. Steve is flexible. “We can take turns.”

“…Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kinkmeme Prompt in Full: Either Iron Man or Captain America has always been believed to be a robot. Until circumstances prove other wise (injury, accident, or other means of reveal) How will one help the other through that revelation?


End file.
